


Intertwined

by bioplast_hero



Series: Autumn Sheith [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cider tasting, Farmer's Markets, Future university AU, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Harvest Festival, Kissing, M/M, Playful first date, Sheith in Autumn, flying kites, swings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27449464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioplast_hero/pseuds/bioplast_hero
Summary: Shiro takes Keith to the harvest festival, where they remind each other how to let loose and play. Just two lovebirds winding their way into each other's hearts.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Autumn Sheith [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000317
Comments: 56
Kudos: 95





	Intertwined

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сплетение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768113) by [KseniyaChe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KseniyaChe/pseuds/KseniyaChe)



> #SheithinAutumn harvest festival
> 
> This is the finale of autumn sheith 'casual aliens' AU, at least for now. Unbeta'd. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> 🍂🍎🌻

Shiro hasn’t been this worked up over a date since… since never, okay? Never in his life.

He left his apartment in plenty of time, and still his heart is hammering and whipping him up into something like a rush. Then the wind is making a mockery of the fact that he attempted to style his hair. He should have known better; he just wanted to look his best.

At least he didn’t have to decide what to wear. He definitely reached for the sweater Keith insisted on buying for him, his thank you for the time and company that Shiro couldn’t be more eager to give and give again. Shiro pulls down on the ribbed hem, checking that it lays just right under his jacket. Shiro wasn’t exaggerating— it _is_ showy, the rich teal cable and high turnover collar. But he loves it in a way he can’t quite express, and Keith is the one who made him feel confident wearing it.

That was when Keith told him he was _handsome._ Just the thought is a shot of serotonin straight to his brain.

Rounding the street corner and heading straight into the wind, the park where they planned to meet comes into view with the vista beyond it. It’s a crisp, clear day, worth every lick of cold wind.

The locals seem to agree with Shiro’s sentiment. The parking lot by the playground hosts a farmer’s market that is having their annual harvest festival today, and though the peak has passed people are still thronging the place. Vendors pull out all the stops for the festival, with pumpkin baked in literally every form, make-your-own candy apples, spiced cider samples and probably some peppermint cocoa, too, promising the season still to come. That’s in addition to the, you know, _actual_ harvest laid out in every color and description. There will be so much for Keith to see and taste; Shiro figured it would be fun to spoil their dinner a little first.

He spots Keith at a distance, lingering near the playground equipment that has been remarkably abandoned in favor of kids begging parents to indulge in sticky apple treats.

Shiro thrills at seeing Keith in some of his new clothes— especially the cozy red sweater and beanie with his bangs sticking out of it, keeping the tips of his pointed ears warm, and those sinfully tight dark jeans. Keith hasn’t noticed Shiro yet, giving the seat of one swing a little push like he’s trying to figure out its purpose.

As he approaches, Shiro gets a little lost in the sunlight flaring in Keith’s hair, how it looks almost dark purple in this light, and the way his eyelashes fan against his lavender cheekbones— right up until Keith looks up at him and smiles.

“Shiro,” he says warmly.

“Hi.” Shiro feels a smile split his face. “You wanna take that for a spin?” He points to the swing.

Keith squints at him. “I will assume this is another expression, because I do not see how it would spin.” Keith’s expression slowly cracks into a grin. “By all means, demonstrate.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Shiro says, dropping down into the neighboring swing. “On one condition. You’ll have to try it with me.”

Keith swaggers forward and lowers himself into the seat. _Challenge accepted._

“Alright,” Shiro starts the motion, letting Keith mimic how he kicks his legs and leans back into the forward thrust. “The key is to start slow and let it build,” he says.”

“Patience,” Keith echoes with mock solemnity. It makes Shiro laugh.

“I’ve created a monster.”

Keith’s teeth look extra sharp as he kicks into the wind.

Soon Keith is whooping and hollering with delight. The swoop in Shiro’s stomach is more than the centripetal force. At the top of his arc, he looks over at Keith and they’re flying.

Shiro backs off his swinging pace just a little before launching out of his seat. Maybe he should worry about being a bad influence on grade school kids, if any are actually watching the adults horsing around on the swings. But right then he doesn’t question it. He relishes the feeling of soaring, if only for a moment, and kicking up the wood chips as he lands at a run.

Keith is not one to be left out, Shiro already know. He leaps out of his swing on the next arc, landing gracefully like a cat and prancing over to Shiro with an exhilarated blush.

“Incredible,” Shiro praises. Maybe it’s a small thing— what ten year-old on Earth hasn’t leapt from a swing?— but it’s the way Keith does it that has Shiro’s pulse racing. He looks so free.

Shiro steers them around some kite-flyers to the cozy little festival, still bubbling over with the thrill of playing around with Keith. It feels so natural, being here like this together, and Shiro can’t reconcile the fact that they met two weeks ago.

As they wander through the marketplace, Shiro gets Keith to sample tiny slices of cured meats, goat cheeses with different herbs, and local jam on bites of bread. The pop-up tents crackle and snap in the wind overhead. Shiro talks excitedly about pumpkin pie samples as they approach them, which turns out to be the one thing Keith passes on trying. _Hard_ pass.

“Really?”

“Why does it smell… musty?” Keith wrinkles his nose at the morsel.

Shiro kind of can’t believe what he’s hearing. “Musty?!”

“It looks… gelatinous. This is not appetizing.” Keith looks apologetic.

Shiro takes back the sample and pops it into his mouth, humming happily at the taste that is one of his favorites in the world. He places a hand on Keith’s back steering him onward, and doesn't miss the way Keith leans into the touch.

Shiro smacks his lips happily. “Okay, alright— you’re _wrong,_ but I guess nobody’s perfect.”

Keith startles, though it melts away as he catches the glimmer in Shiro’s eyes.

“Hmph.” He gives Shiro an appraising look that’s way too fond to take seriously. “Too soon to tell, I think.”

Shiro’s mouth hangs open yet again. How many times is that today? He hopes Keith isn’t keeping score.

“Did you just—?”

“—What are the little cups for?”

Shiro's eyes follow Keith's pointer finder.

“Cider tasting! Oh, you’ll love this,” Shiro licks his lips in anticipation. “Just like the apples the other day.”

Keith steps up to the booth. “I will have some of your apple beverage.” He gets a laugh for his troubles.

“Well, go on, then,” she points at the selection. “Start with the chilled ones here, three varieties. The last spiced batch for the day is heating up now— OH, Shiro! Hello, dear!”

“Hi Colleen,” Shiro smiles at her as she steps out of the stall in her apron and gives Shiro a hug. He wouldn’t be on a first-name basis with all of his professors’ family members, but he babysat the Holt kids for years growing up. They declared him part of the family.

Shiro turns to make introductions. “Keith, this is Dr. Holt.”

“Colleen is fine,” she corrects him, extending her hand. “Good to meet you, Keith. I’ve heard good things about you.”

Keith cocks his head. “From Shiro?”

Shiro turns red, ready to sputter some kind of an answer, but Colleen handily rescues him. “From my husband,” she laughs, “who teaches your astrophysics symposium?”

Keith’s eyes widen. “You are Professor Holt’s mate?”

 _Mate._ The word zings through Shiro’s nervous system with more force than any single word should.

“I supposed that’s right,” she laughs.

Keith is looking back and forth between the two of them.

“Shiro is a dear family friend,” she answers the question Keith didn’t voice. “Though I am sure I _would_ have heard great things about you from him, too, if the rascal would come around and see us more often, hm?”

Shiro winces. “Sorry- I will, I promise. It’s been a really busy term.”

“I’m sure.” Colleen gives him a discerning look. “Okay, well how about you boys sip on some of these while I serve up the hot samples.” She ducks back into the booth and extends a tiny paper cup toward each of them. It’s a peace offering and Shiro will definitely take it.

Fresh-pressed cider is a treat he always looks forward to. Shiro really likes the one that’s more tart with a bright acidity. Keith inhales them all, and declares the last one the winner. It’s from the late harvest, naturally caramel-sweet with the deepest color.

“If you like that, you’re going to love what’s next,” Shiro tells him, eyebrow raised.

Colleen turns to them with two steaming paper cups— the full size.

“On the house,” she says.

Shiro smiles his thanks, and very transparently drops more than the cost of the drinks into her tip jar. She rolls her eyes, but it’s worth it.

Keith’s eyes are wide as he sniffs the contents of his steaming cup. He flushes a light plum as he sees Shiro watching him.

“The aroma,” Keith explains breathily.

“My favorite thing about fall,” Shiro says. “Cinnamon, nutmeg and cloves.” He’s glad that whatever it was that put him off pumpkin, it wasn’t the spices.

Keith mimics the way Shiro blows on the cider. “I believe that you said that about sweaters. And scarves. And apples. And—”

“—Caught me,” Shiro laughs. “What, do you disagree on some particular point?”

Keith shakes his head quickly. “No disagreement. Or, only one so far,” Keith smirks as he takes a tiny, tentative sip. His eyes roll back into his head.

Shiro’s smile is triumphant. “Extravagant enough for you?”

“Perfectly,” Keith sighs blissfully. “And that is the purpose of this festival?”

That’s… not how Shiro would have put it. But here they are, savoring the abundance of the late harvest, before the bite of winter really sets in. From what Keith has said of life in the Galra empire, that is lavish indeed. A little pleasure just for the sake of it.

“You’ve got the idea.”

Nearing the end of the row, there’s a shop selling yard ornaments and various oddball things. It’s too colorful to ignore, and Keith is immediately drawn in. Shiro knows the old Altean who runs the place and usually stops by just to say hello.

“Shiro, old chum, why- aren’t you a sight for sore eye sockets!”

“Coran, how are you?” Shiro buries a laugh under his breath. He’s never met a man so relentless at bungling Terran idioms, so it’s always an interesting time. “This is Keith, he’s new at the university.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, my boy! Oh, what’s caught your eye there?”

Keith is staring up at some kites that are pinned overhead, like the ones families were flying a bit earlier.

“What are these creatures?” Keith asks.

“Lions!” Coran declares gleefully. “Powerful creatures, pure grace and nobility. These are beauties, but nothing like the lions on old Altea,” he says wistfully. “You best bet your birkenschlocks that when a lion has a message for you, you’ll want to listen up!” The Altean winks at them for no apparent reason, but he is odd like that.

“They are wonderful,” Keith murmurs. “But- what are they for, exactly?”

“Why, have you never flown a kite, Keith?” At the shake of his head, Coran’s mustache twitches with mirth. “Well today is your lucky day!”

Before Shiro can blink, the Altean snatches down two kites— the red lion that caught Keith’s eye and a similar black one, too— and slaps them against their chests.

“Uh.”

“Give it a try, I insist! I’ll be right over here when you’re done.”

_Right._

Keith is trying to hide his smile. That alone is enough to convince Shiro to give it a go. They walk out into the grass side by side.

“I haven’t actually flown a kite since, well,” Shiro scrapes his fingers through his undercut, “I can’t even remember.”

“This is child’s play, right?” Keith grins as he lets out a length of line. He turns until the wind is at his back, figuring out his plan of attack. “How hard can it be?”

Shiro knows how to smell a challenge. “Someone’s cocky.”

Keith bites his lip and it’s devastating. Enough that Shiro misses a beat when Keith tosses the kite in the air, spool raised overhead as he jogs backward into the wind. After an uncertain moment, he’s got liftoff.

“Woo!” Keith hoots as Shiro hurries to catch up, admittedly copying Keith’s technique. It works like a charm, his black lion soaring up to greet Keith’s red one.

“It worked!” Shiro laughs, like he’s surprised he didn’t somehow embarrass himself.

“It’s almost like you are a rocket scientist, or something,” Keith snarks back.

“Look who’s talking.” Shiro lowers his voice conspiratorially even while they call back and forth at a distance. “And besides, in two weeks you’ve nailed down more Terran idioms than Coran.” Never mind how low a bar that sets.

Keith nods, sending his kite higher. “My mom uses some of your phrases. She started to tell me I could be a ‘rocket scientist’ from a young age, when my favorite toy was a model ship. I latched onto it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. Only, back then I think I just wanted to fly.”

Shiro hums in agreement. “I know the feeling.”

Their lion kites dance in the sky as the clouds take on a pastel hue. Keith’s smaller red lion is light and quick, while Shiro’s is majestic with red and silver wings. Very strange-looking lions, really.

Keith wanders closer to Shiro, little by little. He's stealing glances while Shiro tries to keep his lion out of Keith’s path.

“Careful,” Shiro laughs at a near miss. “We don’t want to tangle them up!”

Keith gives him a curious look. “And would that be so bad?”

This time it’s up to Keith to avoid the collision, which he manages deftly. All Shiro manages is to stare. Keith’s eyes are violet in the last rays of sunshine, his cheeks turning plum in the chill. He's looking back at Shiro.

The festival is petering out in the fading afternoon, vendors packing up. Shiro spots Coran loading his van and starts making his way over, kite in tow.

“Don’t you want your kites back?” Shiro calls, though he suspects he knows the answer; something like this has happened once before.

“I believe they are right where they need to be!” Coran shouts their way, hopping into the driver’s seat and roaring out of the parking lot like a very unprofitable thief.

Keith sputters a laugh. It’s contagious.

They reel in their lions when they agree that their fingers are going numb, chatting as they walk from the park to the casual spot Shiro picked for dinner. For a while there, he forgot all about being nervous, but the feeling returns as he wonders whether he made the right choice. He’s not worried about impressing Keith, not really; he just wants him to have a good time.

Shiro holds the heavy wood door open for them.

The sounds and sights and smells wash over them on the threshold: the din of conversation and friends playing darts, warm lights on dark wood and leather, a flickering fire and the smell of comfort food and hops.

Shiro waves at the bartender and ushers Keith to a seat on a big leather couch near the back by the fireplace, with menus already waiting on the coffee table. It’s cozy and less crowded.

“What is this place?”

“She’s my favorite pub in town.” Shiro sets their lion kites on the table. He's kind of glad to have a souvenir from their afternoon.

“Pub,” Keith echoes, running his hands over the leather and the weathered wood of the table. He’s very tactile, which is a thought that Shiro’s brain desperately wants to linger on a moment longer.

“Yeah, the food is really good, I know the cook. And I like how it always feels cozy to be here.” Keith is quiet, taking it all in. Shiro’s nerves come back with a vengeance, waiting for Keith’s opinion of his possibly peculiar taste.

Shiro takes a deep breath to center himself, picking up the notes of fir burning in the fireplace.

“Do you like it? I mean, we can of course go somewhere else—”

“I want to stay,” Keith insists. “It is just… familiar.”

“Really?” Shiro can’t help his excitement. “Does it remind you of home?”

“Not of home, but a memory. We traveled constantly when I was young. At a Vray’xi outpost, there was a tavern like this one. My mother was excited, insisted we stay for a meal. Now I see why.”

“That’s incredible! I’d love to see it.”

Keith snorts. “Well, the food was… an acquired taste. I am sure the real thing is better.”

“Valid,” he nods. “It’s more than that, though. Just… to think there’s somewhere on the other side of the universe that reminds you of this place.” Shiro exhales. “You’re lucky to have seen all of that, Keith. Sometimes it feels like it’ll be forever before I’ll finally touch the stars, too. Other times I know I’m so close.”

Keith nudges Shiro with his shoulder.

“You are close to your dreams,” Keith answers, reaching to cover Shiro’s hand with his.

Such a simple touch to send Shiro’s heart galloping. He strokes his thumb along the edge of Keith’s palm, appreciating his openness and warmth. Shiro moves to thread their fingers together as they are, with Keith’s palm still pressed into the back of Shiro’s hand.

Keith’s eyes widen. Before Shiro can assume he’s done something weird or offensive, Keith gives his fingers a squeeze in return.

“This is a human custom,” Keith says gingerly, barely above a whisper. “My mom taught me. It means affection, yes?”

“Definitely yes,” he barks a sharp laugh. Shiro might have been mortified at being so transparent, but he’s never been smitten like this. He wants Keith to know how he’s tilting his axis right now.

They order food and cider— the alcoholic kind, this time, Shiro makes sure Keith is aware. Keith flashes a toothy grin.

“Your Terran intoxicant does not affect me strongly.”

Shiro snorts. “Well that makes one of us,” he toasts clinks his pint against Keith’s glass.

Shiro indeed gets rosy-cheeked and loose-lipped after one pint, and hesitates about ordering another. He’s saved by the arrival of their plates heaped with burgers and homestyle fries.

Keith is watching him closely. “You are indeed light of weight.”

“A _lightweight,”_ he corrects, shouldering Keith playfully, “and there’s no need to rub it in.” He asks the server for a coffee along with Keith’s second cider.

Keith massacres his juicy burger— the carnage would make headlines— but what ensures Shiro’s demise is the sight that follows of Keith thoroughly licking and sucking the mess from his fingers. Keith sees Shiro’s mouth hanging open for the hundredth time that day, before he has the wherewithal to shut it.

Not that Shiro’s brain-to-mouth filter is entirely functional around Keith to begin with, but having a pint in him isn’t helping matters.

Keith freezes under his gaze, a blush flying to his cheeks. He spots the pile of napkins and reaches for those like a lifeline, hurriedly wiping off his fingers and his lips.

“That was rude, I am sorry. It was habit—”

“No, Keith. You’re good. That was—” _Horny._ The horniest thing Shiro has ever seen, not for lack of experience but because this is _Keith_ and that makes it downright obscene.

But he can’t say that, right? Shiro is desperate to explain so Keith won’t be making sad puppy eyes at him anymore, and that might _also_ be why words are failing him.

Shiro swallows hard. “Hot. It was- wow, so hot.”

Surprise flashes over Keith’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro’s stomach flips, “you’re not rude, I’m being rude, I—”

Keith kisses him.

It’s a hard kiss, hungry, and savory like the food. Shiro can process exactly half a percent of all that, because _Keith is kissing him right now._ He feels Keith’s tongue slide against the seam of his lips and moans into Keith’s mouth.

“Shiro,” Keith sighs.

“Keith, I...” He’s at a loss. “Wow.”

“Yes?” Keith searches his eyes.

“So much yes. Can we, um, try that again?”

Keith’s smirk is wicked. “You can _try_ as many as you like.”

They aren’t totally without shame, but their check arrives without comment and it’d be a lie to say they noticed when their plates were cleared away for the night.

.o0o.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [**twitter**](https://twitter.com/bioplast_hero)! 🍂🍎🌻 [Other sheith by this author](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=10209319&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&exclude_work_search%5Brelationship_ids%5D%5B%5D=17504241&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=T&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&commit=Sort+and+Filter&user_id=bioplast_hero)
> 
> I love comments of any kind, including emoji dances and keysmashes— all welcome. Thank you for reading!


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